Bedroom Hymns
by Guardianofsassandass
Summary: It was the fifth time he had claimed the highest seat of the house for his own just to see the tantalizing pale form twist and dance on air. Pitch Black knew with a startling and terrifying thrill it would not be his last.
1. Chapter 1

With practiced ease, he swept up the concrete stairs pockmarked by old soda spills, discolored circles of chewing gum, and stale kernels of popcorn in the same pattern he had followed for several days now. There would be no one around to bother him, no shrieking children, no obnoxious teenagers, no chatty adults, not a single soul for ten rows of seats below him. He had bought every single ticket and felt it was a small price to pay for his privacy and enjoyment of the show. Besides, it wasn't like he couldn't afford it, being an international best-selling author ten times over in the span of just five months tended to cushion one's wallet quite a bit. But money was not his concern, it was merely the means for an end. Straightening his black suit jacket, he reclined back in the uncomfortable plastic arena seats just as the lights dimmed, elegantly folding his long legs before him. As the circus acts began, he paid little attention to them, whipping out his phone and chuckling quietly to himself as he scrolled through what angry critics were saying about his latest piece of work. Really, it was so cute the way they got themselves all worked up and jealous at his sudden fame and wealth as his novels practically flew off the shelves and were devoured by the depraved masses. A sudden buzz caught his notice and he easily hit the button to ignore, not even his editor was going to distract him from missing what he had come here for. He could easily explain the lecture he was sure to get later, and he had his excuse ready. He had found the muse for his next story. Except it wasn't a lie, it was the pure honest truth.

Pushing his phone back inside his jacket pocket, he leaned forward, steepling his fingers as his golden eyes wandered, bored exhaustively over the lackluster performances. He wished he could sweep them from the stage and give the way for a real artist to take the floor. Shifting restlessly, he felt the piece of paper in his pocket rustle softly and he slipped his fingers inside, brushing them over the well-worn edges and he began to breathe more easily. This. This was why he was here. What was on this poster was the key to his success, the simple reason he had suddenly acquired masses of wealth and fame, his pure motivation. He carried it with him everywhere, the image on it bringing him solace, drive, and most of all, desire. It was the only god he beheld himself to, the only idol he prayed to late at night when he couldn't sleep and the moon shone too brightly and disturbed his pleasant dreams. It was the only name he moaned out rapturously when he was alone and stroked himself eagerly, panting harshly as the vision that swam behind his eyes pleasured him just as fervently. And now, all his long dreams and whispered fantasies were going to come true. Five months that had been the most strenuous of his entire life were about to pay off in the most fantastic of ways. His fingers curled slightly around the folded piece of paper and he exhaled slowly, settling again. He could be patient just a while longer.

And it's just then that he finally sees him, his tantalizing angel, his delicate treasure wrought from purest light in all his glory, and his name is on his lips and it hushes through with such breathless reverence that he doesn't know what to do with himself an hour for the past five days is just simply not enough to catch a glimpse of this fey creature who has invaded his mind his thoughts and heart with such a burning thoughtless insistence that makes him mad because how could he not know how could he not realize how crazy he had made him, how wild and driven by desire to claim to possess to touch and to crave that lovely slim body under his own. Golden eyes never left as they stared devotedly at the lithe figure in the air, memorizing how it seemed to fly and dance effortlessly in thin air, bound by nothing else than black bands of silk that hung from the ceiling and draped over his nude body leaving absolutely nothing to his imagination except for the little it covers up and he could just snarl and rip it from him with his bare hands because beauty like that isn't meant to be covered it's meant to be shown but for him only for him. He doesn't know how long he's been watching doesn't care because suddenly those startling blue eyes lock onto his and he feels the air leave his lungs like someone reached inside and twisted all his organs into agonizing shapes that spel an because this has never happened he's never acknowledged him how does he know? But then the impish face that has haunted his dreams for weeks dancing just out of reach smiles he smiles at him and he's suddenly reaching because a delicate white wrist has flicked out and dangled a perfectly formed and dyed black rose in its fingers poised to throw. It leaves his hand in a simple arch, soaring high above the other spectators that he had forgotten even were there because no one else in the world existed when his precious was before him. With a sudden desperate cry he notices other hands raising all to catch that fragile rose but it wasn't a rose it was his dreams his world his reason for living and he would be damned if anyone else caught what had been thrown to him it was his mine all mine and he wills it to come to him. With frantic urgency he stretches his fingertips watches with a twisting of his stomach and a fierce pounding of his heart as the black petals turn and sway with the blasts of cold air conditioned breeze and it cavorts along the streams twisting and turning teasingly and lands-

in his hand.

Just like that, it's over. The droning crowd shuffles in a mindless dragging wave to the doors, discarding ticket stubs, pamphlets, and food cartons carelessly to the floor as they soon would their memories of tonight. But not him. He would never forget as long as he had breath in his body the way those blue eyes had seared a path right though him until he was simply _breathless_ and laid bare before that sweet soft innocent gaze that seemed to know all the horrors and scars the world bore but chose to see the beauty of life instead and laugh in the face of sadness and fear as easily as he had swung from his black ties not a moment before. What wouldn't he give to have those lovely lovely eyes pinned on him forever where he could just drown in their beautiful depths and how he could simply shout and rejoice because he _knew _his little darling his smart clever prince knew he had been there all along and had made a point of reaching out to him tonight. And here was the proof, clasped tightly in his long grey fingers.

Pitch Black rose from his seat and threaded the black rose through his button hole on his suit, patting it fondly. The time for sitting still was now over. He had been acknowledged. It was only right after waiting oh so patiently for a sign that his love had seen and recognized him that he go and deliver a special gift, an invitation if you will. Gliding silently out of the now dim and darkening arena, he allowed a serene smile to slip across his face, golden eyes taking on a slightly dreamy glow as he strode across the pavement to where his chauffeur was waiting, pants feeling uncomfortably tight from being ignored all this time. He slipped inside and barked a few directions to the stiff man in the driver's seat before sliding the tinted window dividing the cab shut and allowing himself a much needed moment of reprieve. Settling back against the plush fabric of the seat, he unzipped his pants and closed his eyes, taking himself in hand and stroking and playing gently, imagining perfect pink lips, bright blue eyes driven hazy by lust, and delectable moans that would rise out of a pale elegant throat that swallowed him whole and teased him with a devilish tongue, hands stroking while _rapturously_ calling Pitch's name until-. Surprising himself as he came quickly all over his hand, he grabbed a few napkins from a dispenser in the middle and cleaned himself up, feeling deliriously happy at his sudden turn of fortune. How funny was it, that one night could make all the difference in the world. It was time to put his plan into action.

Whether he knew it or not, Jack Frost would be_ his_ by the end of the week.


	2. The Invitation

It had been easy enough to find out where his Jack had been staying, a few phone calls, a slight dash of supplying funds, and the ringmaster was more than overjoyed to help out his anonymous benefactor. Why yes, he'd be pleased to offer up where the performers were staying so that the newspaper could do a special personal interview with them one on one- after all, how could he refuse the male voice who had single handedly ensured he would be without monetary need for at least two years with such a generous gift? Pitch grinned to himself as he crept up the stairs, the darkness from outside his friend and aid to conceal his foreboding figure from unwanted eyes. It was true what they said, a little money went a long way. But in this case, he would pay anything and everything if it meant getting to where his love was. Of course, the journalists would never come and the ringmaster would be greatly embarrassed but he didn't care. He had gotten the information he wanted and his treasure was almost firmly in his _grasp_.

Standing on the threshold of the dingy apartment door that was all that stood to separate him from his Jack within, Pitch felt he could tear it away with ease like crumpled paper and banish the gross hideous obstruction. Forcing himself to remain as quiet as he could possibly be so as to not awaken the lovely creature behind the door yet, he softly tested the wood, placing the flat of his palm on it and pushing gently. It swung open with ease, noiseless and welcoming. He stayed there, feeling every hair on his body become attuned to the anticipation boiling over in his stomach because this was it he was here Jack was in there Jack was _waiting_, waiting for _him_.

The golden eyes never left the lithe and small form tucked inside the thin blankets as the dark figure approached him quietly, getting close enough to silently stand watch over the occupant in the bed. A long fingered grey hand hovered over the white strands sprawled messily over the flat pillows, not quite touching but not without wanting. It would be just too easy to take the small black band of silk he had brought with him, almost similar to the petal soft texture of the rose Jack had thrown to him at his last performance and still smelled like him, all sweet and soft and _hisallhisonlymine!_, and tie his hands to those cold metal posts and blindfold those mesmerizing and soulful blue eyes he could just lose eternity in and have his way with the beautiful and delicate creature before him. He could almost feel the way Jack would buck and move for him, how those pale pink lips forming his name and his alone as he filled him with pleasure and want, and the precious and rare sounds that would fall from his mouth that made Jack sound like he was dying and coming to life all at once because of _Pitch_ and Pitch could just drink them up until Jack had no more to give and then he would return the favor hundred fold. Because Jack was his, made for him and no one else. He could already feel himself getting hard at the thought of it all, a fact that was not helped when the subject in the bed let out a breathy sigh and Pitch just wanted to snatch him up and keep him in his arms forever and not let go because to let go would mean to stop breathing him in and Pitch would die without his oxygen, his Jack. But he could wait a little longer if it meant he'd have him all to himself soon. He'd waited this long anyways. That didn't mean he couldn't leave his little frost prince a gift, though. He'd leave it right where Jack would find it in the morning before he got ready for his last show. There was only one more performance in town and that would mean the circus would be heading out at dawn on Tuesday, in seven days from now, Jack with them. But Pitch had a plan. Oh yes, his love wasn't going _anywhere_ he couldn't follow.

Leaving the thin box with the silver necklace bearing a small delicately carved snowflake of crystal inside tied up with blue and black ribbons on the nightstand where Jack would surely find it in the morning, Pitch reached inside his suit pocket and withdrew a small square of creamy cardstock, emblazoned with his bold and steady handwriting.

The moon lives in the lining of your skin

He found himself back on his bed with no recollection of how he managed to get home. It was all a blur of bright lights and noises and hectic streets but all he could remember was the frantic beating of his heart as it pounded with the steady soft hum of Jack's breathing in his brain. Pitch stretched his fingers against the sheets, crinkling their silky smoothness and imagining strands of white hair that would slide through his fingers ten times more soft as he would stroke their owner's head, large and adoring blue eyes staring up at him as he positioned that lovely delicate frame on top of his own, running his hands up and down to feel memorize brand into his memory every bone every dip of skin the way his Jack would sigh and melt under his touches, so pliant and supple and gentle. And then he would cup his hands around those soft thighs and shift until Jack was on his lap, silky smooth pale skin flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat, sweet lips parted in a silent cry and head tossed back, exposing that wonderful fluted neck that Pitch could sink his teeth into over and over again while running his hands up and down it, feeling learning anticipating every shaky inhale of breath. But that would be for later, after the fact that he now had his love spread out on top of his legs, his length buried inside him and Jack would be oh so wonderfully _tight_ and gorgeous and perfect with Pitch all the way in him like he could just push Jack further down and make him stay there forever. A hot shivering mess with glassy and dazed blue eyes, a pure beauty that was allhisandhisalone to cherish and have forever. Pitch would palm down the torso in front of him, mapping every ridge and bump of his bones, every dip and crease of his skin, savoring it with the immense satisfaction that he would be able to do this whenever he liked. Jack would strain against the bonds Pitch had so _lovingly_ tied his hands in, making sure he had used the softest black silk so there were no angry red chafe marks, and whimpered, chest heaving for air. "Hush, darling," Pitch whispered, raising a hand to gently caress his cheek and Jack suddenly rocked forward, seeking his touch. A thrill raced through him as he watched the pale figure before him react so _desperately_ for _him_ and he leaned forward, moving his hands to support the small of Jack's back and cup the back of his neck as he seared his lips to the pink ones, hungrily kissing him like he never would get the chance to again, chasing the minty flavor of his mouth like it was the sweetest of wines. _Mine_, he thought, a dark desire rushing through him in hot waves. _You are mine_.

Pitch opened his eyes, panting heavily like he had run a mile, gasping for air and standing up on shaky legs as he took in the mess he had made all over the sheets. With a deep inhale that rocked him to his core, he pushed a clean hand through his sweaty black hair, trying to steady himself and reclaim his breathing. The time for fantasies would soon be over, he told himself repeatedly as he stumbled to the shower to clean up, letting the cold water shock away his raging want and desire. Six more days.

Hours later, he could still taste an odd linger of peppermint.


	3. Something Rotten in the State of Denmark

His fingers were slipping into the chilly mouth, dragging themselves over his tongue. A hand was in his hair, massaging the scalp and combing through the silky white locks. The soft, delicate body was propped up against his warm, solid chest that promised security and strength for as long as forever lasted to him. Jack looked happily drugged, blue eyes hazy and a grainy film settling over his mind. He made sure his darkly rich and velvet voice was drifting into his ears, promising him everything if he just relaxed and let someone else take it from here. And would that just be wonderful? To be taken care of and pleasured like this for the rest of his life? A low moan dragged itself from the back of the beautiful pale throat and the cold tongue lazily swirled around his fingers in _his_ mouth be**cause Jack was his every single part of him belonged to Pitch and he would be damned if anyone else touched him **as he let the other hand leave the snowy landscape of hair and gently tug down on the loose pants, removing the grey boxers with an effortless almost elegant ease. His hand crept around to his front and Jack should know what was coming next he had been craving it for God knows how long and it still took him by surprise when his warm hand was able to wrap around his length and teasingly stroke it with an expert touch that felt so much better than his own attempts, making them clumsy and rough by comparison from all those long nights alone. His Jack couldn't help the sudden muffled whimper of want and need as he watched his hips shifting forwards without thought and he gave a purr of praise from above him, soaking his lovely creature in flattery and worship as he had dreamed of for weeks. Soft lips touched the top of his head and he watched with pride as his Jack nearly melted backwards as they kissed a trail down his face and nipped gently at his ear as his Jack kept licking and sucking on the fingers in his mouth, encouraged and driven by the pumps and strokes below and the blissful voice in his ear. "That's it, you're such a _lovely_ good boy, you perfect _flawless_ creature, come on, let it all go..." And so Jack did-

The phone vibrated noisily as it rang, its insistent shrill shriek breaking through his thoughts as effectively as a bucket of ice water.

Pitch sighed irritably and slowly straightened out of his high backed chair that sat in front of the floor to ceiling windows, tearing his gaze away from where he had been staring out at the thick dark green woods that surrounded the outside of his house. It had just begun to rain, heavy and dark drops that fell heavily from the bleak sky and exploded in large wet splotches on the grass and concrete. He strode over leisurely to his desk where a pen and open notebook lay, having given up trying to complete a sentence he had no interest in anymore. Flipping over and staring apathetically at the screen, the name of his editor flashed. With a quiet snort, he pressed the red button and silenced the phone, laying it back down. He had no more need for that man, his purpose in his life was completed. He had no more interest in pursuing a career in writing, it had just been a fast and easy way for someone of his plentiful imagination to make money and take pleasure in the way his disgusting audience snapped up the books like sickly sweet candy. He had no more use for them either. He was set in his wealth and there was only one obligation he had to fulfill- pledge the rest of his life to his love and take care of him forever. That was his occupation and he would willingly be a slave to it until the day he died.

Bored golden stare rippling across the blank burgundy walls of his office, he fiddled absently with his pen, flicking the cap on and off. The circus wasn't performing again until late that night and he had hours to kill before he could see his Jack again. After the events of yesterday, a deep welling urge surged inside him to see him constantly, to be acknowledged more and more. The black rose that had been thrown to him the previous night lay on the top of his desk, its sweet scent filling the air and Pitch believed that if he sniffed hard enough, its petals would yield the gentle caressing aroma that was his love that swam around his head and send him into a dizzying sweet dream of creamy untouched skin and a soft laughing voice. Smiling to himself, Pitch traced the outline of a snowflake on his notebook page, wondering if Jack had found the gift this morning and found it satisfactory. He hoped he did and would wear it tonight. The shimmering silver light would reflect so nicely off of the hand carved crystal and shine up into those sparkling blue eyes like kaleidoscopes, fracturing and splintering any rational thoughts he had. There was a time when he hated his Jack, for turning him into what he was. But now he realized the truth- he could never hate this pure and immaculate soul that had laid such claim to him. Jack had shown him the beauty and wonder of the world, how priceless and precious love could be. Pitch had made a promise late one night, sitting and shaking on the floor of a stinking old motel one year ago, bottles and needles strewn around him with only fifty dollars to his name and a poster of a white haired and blue eyed angel that he would give himself wholly and unconditionally to Jack because he _loved_ him, he had _saved_ him, his Jack his lovely precious darling had showed him the LIGHT. He would save Jack, just as Jack had saved him.

And Jack would love him for it.

Pitch let out a deep exhale, clenching his hand around the pen. It was time for a public appearance. Tonight, he would meet his Jack face to face.

**(And Jack would love him for it.)**


End file.
